


The Divide

by Kitari (TwoTonedEchoes)



Series: Crimson and Violet [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, F/M, Gen, The Echo (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoTonedEchoes/pseuds/Kitari
Summary: Desperate situations call for ever more desperate solutions. The Warrior of Darkness is granted a vision of the past, and the making of a decision that would shape the very future of the star.Heavy 5.0 spoilers, and light Emet-Selch/female WoLD content.





	The Divide

The familiar haze of the Echo made it immediately clear this was no ordinary dream. But was it truly any surprise that the visions would descend now, wrapped in the arms of the enemy as Ragna was?

The chamber was grand, to say the very least. Gold and ivory decorated the walls and floor, inlaid in impossible patterns as if they had melted together in natural elegance. Fourteen immense thrones of darkest polished wood sat in a circle in the center of the chamber, the foremost set slightly above the other thirteen. Before them all was set a matching desk, each scattered with various documents, and each in various states of organization–some in perfect file, while others looked nothing but chaotic. In the center of each desk was set a half lectern, well used by all when their turn to speak had come.  
  
This day however, there would be no further discussion, no passing of full attention to rebuttals and counter-propositions. All that was to be said had been, again and again at length. All that now remained was the final call.  
  
“We call today official vote on the proposition submitted by the honorable Lahabrea in response to the growing disturbances within the star.” The voice came from the raised throne, the speaker the only one of the fourteen present who was dressed in white, rather than black. “We will brook no further discussion at this time, due to the pressing nature of the application of a plan of action. Those approving of the proposition granting will to the star voice ‘aye’, those opposed ‘nay’. We begin with the venerable Loghrif.”  
  
All attention turned to the figure at the Emissary’s right. He stood, and after clearing his throat said clearly, “Aye.”

Vote made, he sat, and the figure to his right stood in turn. Without being sure quite _how _she knew it, Ragna nevertheless knew this one as Mitron, called the Chastiser. “Aye,” Mitron voted and sat quickly once more, seemingly relieved to have done with it.

The mask of the next figure to stand was familiar, a disobedient shock of white hair peeking from his cowl even now. It was a mark of the gravity of the situation at hand that no one present even considered making comment on it. Emet-Selch paused a long moment, his gaze drifting three spaces to the right. Even within the vision it seemed to Ragna he looked at _her_ somehow, as if seeking her input, or perhaps only in a silent plea for forgiveness for the vote he was to voice.  
  
“Aye,” he said heavily, seemingly unable to resist adding, “…for want of a better option.”  
  
His addition sparked a short wave of muttered conversation, quickly put to rest by the raised hand of the Emissary. “We require only your vote, Emet-Selch. No further commentary is called for.”

Emet-Selch’s lip curled into a deep scowl, but he did not speak further, instead sitting once more, crossing his arms before him. A man Ragna once more somehow knew as Pashtarot was next to raise, again voting in favor as did Fandaniel, the next in line.

With that Ragna felt her own body raise, tho not of her own volition, and realized for the first time that she was not to be a silent observer in this dream. A moment of panic gripped her in the vision. Never before had she been truly present within a vision of the Echo, and the feeling of being but a passenger within her own body was beyond disconcerting.

She felt herself step forward to the lectern, and in a voice that both was and was not her own, decisively proclaimed “_Nay,”_ Her tone made clear she thought it utter madness to even begin to consider any other option.

Just as quickly as she had stood, her body moved back to reclaim her seat, and the voting continued around the room until all fourteen had spoken save the Emissary. There were no further dissenters.

Elidibus nodded, standing once more as the voting came to a close. “In the absence once more of a unanimous vote, we will once more open the floor to-”  
  
“No.”

There was a stunned shuffle through the room, as the thirteen looked in shock at who had dared interrupt the Emissary as he spoke, and it took Ragna a long moment to realize it had been _her. _She stood once more, ignoring the question Emet-Selch mouthed silently at her: _What are you doing? _

Moving decisively to the lectern before her, she continued, her voice echoing in the stunned silence. “There will be no need of further discussion.” She felt her arm raise, felt the power called forth within it as a crimson sigil flared before her eyes, and then coalesced in a blank red mask in her hand, which she placed with a soft but resounding clink upon the lectern. She knew without looking that the one still on her face had faded to black.  
  
“Have your mad consensus. I resign my post.”

A flurry of outrage arose at her words, but she felt herself turn her back to it as she exited the chamber, not once looking back as the vision faded.

When it next returned, she walked the streets of Amaurot, a storm at her heels. His familiar voice called a name–a title–she could not quite make out after her, but it was not until he yelled “_Persephone!” _in exasperation that she turned.

Emet-Selch closed the gap to her quickly, reaching out to grip her arm. She looked down at the point of contact coldly, before turning her shielded gaze back to him. Even beyond the mask, the simmering fury on her face was evident to all.

“Persephone _please_,” he began. “This is utter _madness_. You cannot resign your post now, not at this criti-”  
  
“Madness?!” She snapped back, cutting him off. “Are you so blind, Hades? You are the one who has gone mad. You, and all the rest of them. This plan is desperate foolishness. You would sacrifice our people to a idea, one that we know not the consequences of making manifest!”

“I _know _that!” He snarled in return, keeping his voice a low growl to her raised tone, trying even still to keep the truth of their divide from the curious onlookers. “We all know. But there is _not the time_ to evaluate another option. Even now the sickness grows ever closer. You _know_ this. [O](https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Siuqila:_Too_Good_to_be_True&action=edit&redlink=1)ceana has already fallen. We must act _now _if we hold any hope of protecting our people from the inevitable spread.”

“Not like this,” she whispered softly, her voice carrying quiet conviction, despite the slow tears that slipped from beneath her mask. “This is _wrong_, Hades. I know it. I _feel _it. We are being led down a dark path, one I fear there is no return from. I cannot stop you from making this choice… but I will not be part of it.”

Gently, she pulled her arm from his grasp, reaching up briefly to trace the tips of her clawed gloves over his cheek, lovingly. In mourning. “You go where I cannot follow. Where I _will_ not follow. Goodbye, my love.”

Before he had time to react, she darted forward, sealing his lips with a quick, heated kiss… and then she was gone, vanished like a phantom, leaving him standing in the street, alone.


End file.
